Darkness Beckons
by Joella
Summary: Dean's secrets are breaking the Winchesters apart. Each wants to help the other but cannot find a way to do so. Unfortunately, other problems begin to loom. Spoilers up through Crossroad Blues for now.
1. Chapter 1

**Darkness Beckons - Prologue**

Disclaimer: The world of Supernatural is the property of Kripke, et. al. I'm borrowing it for a short time for this story.

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Sam dragged his eyes away from the darkness through which they traveled. "Hey, Dean?" 

"Yeah."

"When you were trapping that demon, you weren't…" Sam paused, dreading what he might hear before plunging ahead. "I mean, it was all a trick, right?" He glanced at Dean with a silent plea of denial. "You never considered actually making that. . . deal, right?"

Dean didn't answer and looked away out of the driver's window. Taking a breath, he said nothing before reaching out and popping in one of his cassettes. The silence was consumed.

Dean couldn't answer Sam's question. He didn't want to admit how tempted he had been to make a bargain for his family's sake with his life and soul. But it wasn't what Sammy thought. Dean knew there was no guarantee that John would return untouched and whole. He'd been possessed once and that had left a gateway. Making the deal for Dean's life with the demon had opened that door just a little more. John was dead, and the dead should stay dead. At least, that's what he'd been telling himself time and again since he had awakened in the hospital.

But Sam. Sam was alive and next to him. Listening to her seductive voice, a desperate thought had crossed Dean's mind. A new deal, a _better_ deal. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to take away Sammy's gift and all that went with it. **All**. If Sammy didn't have to resist, didn't have to suffer from the visions, didn't have to face the truth he didn't yet know, then Dean's death in ten years would definitely be worth it. Sam could take care of himself in a fight but against The Demon? That was another situation altogether. The Demon wanted Sam and the only things stopping it was Sam's hatred of it and Dean.

But a soldier doesn't willingly give up an advantage and, like it or not, Sam's ability gave their side an edge they might desperately need one day. So Dean did not strike his deal. His jaw clenched as he reaffirmed his promise first given many years ago that he would always watch out for Sam. He loved his brother too much to leave him alone to that thing's not-so-tender mercies. No. He would fight beside and in front of Sam to the bitter end.

Seeing his brother clench his teeth, Sam blinked back the tears he refused to shed. Dean had not answered him, but Sam knew him too well. Dean was still too torn up by their dad's death not to have been tempted. His brother had always had a dark side, but normally he disguised it with joking banter and teasing. Lately, the darkness had begun to twist at Dean and draw him down. Sam felt like he stood on a beach with the waves dragging the sand out from beneath his feet. Everything he'd worked for, fought for, lived for was vanishing. Because of him. _What were The Demon's plans?_ Those plans had taken his mother, his girlfriend, his father from him. Now Dean was taking himself from Sam. Did he not want to be near Sam? Was his younger brother such a painful and constant reminder of what had happened to him through the years? Or was it something else? Sam clenched his fist on his left thigh. He wanted to slam his arm against the window but was afraid he'd crack the glass with his cast. Damaging the Impala would surely piss Dean off even more than he already was. Sam had hoped Dean would leave his rage behind when they had left Bobby's. Sam needed the old Dean back. He knew he'd become dependent on his brother but those roles had been forged since childhood. Bobby had said he'd listen to anything that Sam wanted to say, but Sam could only share those inner thoughts with Dean. But Dean wouldn't listen. Night after night, Sam had lain awake not because of any visions but fear of more nightmares. They had returned full force. He'd felt fortunate that Dean often went out until late when they were in a motel. Dean never heard his brother's incoherent pleas or saw him right after he'd awakened. A year ago, Sam's darkened eyes would have drawn Dean's concern; not now. Now, Dean saw only what he allowed himself to see. The hunt brought him back to life like nothing else did. But it was a life on the edge. Sam felt alone even when Dean was standing beside him. He wanted to help his brother, talk him through his anger, rage, and admitted shame. But Dean refused. Sam had swallowed his own feelings to make it easier on his brother. Heaven knew how much trouble Sam had been to Dean all his life. Dean didn't need to be burdened by Sam's pain as well.

He clutched his arms around him and suppressed a shiver. Dean blamed himself for John's deal with the demon. Sam blamed himself for The Demon knowing about the Winchesters in the first place. Sam was on a roller coaster right before it dropped down. He knew the fall was coming, but no matter how much he screamed, nothing would stop the inevitable. Sam's hope was that his fall would hurt only _him_. He feared that hope was in vain. He stared back out into the darkness, a scream discernable to only his ears slowly building inside.

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A/N: Reviews would be greatly appreciated so I can know what you thought about this so far. Thanks. It will be a bit before the next chapter is up due to the holiday, etc. but it will come, I promise. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Darkness Beckons** - Chapter One

Disclaimer: I have no rights to the world of Supernatural; Kripke controls all.

Special thanks goes to devianttart, Ghostwriter, LovinJackson, mtuffy, elental-sparky, and Nana56 for all their positive notes. I hope the time lag between the Prologue and now didn't turn you all off. This chapter takes place right after Croatoan. Life just got very busy for me.

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Another job completed. Dean _should_ be satisfied. But he wasn't. Neither of them was. This job had left too many ends hanging. Opened too many new doors. They hadn't destroyed the evil; it just vanished. Still confused by his miraculous escape, Sam focused instead on Dean's words spoken in the doctor's office. Sam had been terrified of turning into an "it," and he was determined to make sure he wouldn't. He'd tried to convince Dean to leave with the others, but as usual, Dean did his own thing. When Dean said he was staying and locked the office door, Sam first hoped he meant to make sure there would be nothing left of his brother to reanimate. He had carried Sam away from a fire once; now he would place his brother in the fire. A fitting end for him. But that wasn't Dean's intention when Sam pointed out, "You can keep going."

"Who says I want to?"

"_What_?"

"I'm tired, Sam. I'm tired of this job, this life, this weight on my shoulders, man, I'm tired of it."

"So what? So you're just going to give up? I mean, you're just going to lay down and die? Look. Dean, I know this stuff with dad had.."

"You're wrong. It's not about Dad. A big part of it is sure but. . ."

"What is it about?"

What it was about, Sam hadn't learned. Not then at least. Doctor Lee had returned with the news of the empty town. Those infected by the virus were gone. Only the five of them remained, leaving Rivergrove to split off into three directions early that morning. Dean had called Bobby once a phone signal was found and told him about the demonic virus. Disappointed that the Tanner blood was no longer tainted with the sulfur as proof for others, Bobby planned to call certain of his contacts to start a search for anything that could help them. It would be difficult to learn more about this "demonic germ warfare" as Sam had dubbed it with their scanty information, but it shed an unwelcome new light on the war to come. A lightbulb clicked. The demon must somehow have been behind all this. Pam had said she was waiting to "get him alone." Why had _he_ been a target? Sam sighed, his breath fogging the window, not noticing Dean's worried glance.

Both Winchesters were drained by the past 24 hours. Sam's thoughts ricocheted back and forth inside his head. He'd grasp at a concept only to have it slip away to be taunted by another. He looked over sideways and saw that Dean's hands were clenched around the Impala's steering wheel. His own hands were clenched on his thighs. What was it that Dean was not telling him? He was piecing together bits from when Andy had forced Dean to talk with his almost-confession last night. The implications were starting to scare him. Why had he seen _this_ town in a vision? Yes, there had been a plague of demonic things but his visions had always been related to the yellow-eyed demon or those gifted like him. Where did Rivergrove fit in? Was it a testing ground? Pam had acted like it was. He remembered the blinding pain that had struck him in the hotel room when he'd had the vision. He had been looking out the window to see if Dean had returned yet when it engulfed him. He had felt his body drop, unable to stop it, overwhelmed by what he saw. Dean had killed someone in his vision. Someone who turned out not to be infected. Why had he _seen_ Duane? Why not Duane's father or brother? Later, he'd remember these thoughts and regret staying Dean's hand. At the time, though, it had been the only thing to do.

Sam stared out the window, his eyes not registering what he saw at all. The events that had engulfed them since Mary's death, since Jessica's death, since John's death seemed to be leading them towards some kind of major confrontation. Closing his eyes, he was back in his Palo Alto apartment feeling the heat from the flames, seeing Jessica burning. He renewed his resolution that Dean would not end up the same. They seemed to be getting deeper and deeper into this war Bobby had talked about. There was no escape, not for them. There was only the job. And each other.

Sam had believed it was the job that kept Dean going. Now he knew the job wasn't enough for Dean anymore. His older brother had been on edge, had been extremely intense during their hunts. He had never been scarier to Sam as he had when they'd faced each other across the doctor's office. Yeah, Sammy-watch was also his life but Sam had begun to wonder if Dean still loved his brother? He'd never ask it, not aloud at least, but still. _Could_ Dean still love him? He had pushed him away since John's death. Was Dean now afraid of him for some reason? He'd almost said as much back in Guthry, Oklahoma. He scrunched further down in the Impala's seat. He couldn't bring himself to ask, afraid of what the answer would be. Dean was holding something back, something that was tearing him apart and if it wasn't _just Dad_, then that really only left Sam. Dean's words mimicked Sam's own words months before. He claimed it wasn't just the memory of Jess that kept him from dating. Unspoken to Dean were his words about how fearful he was that the demon would go after another loved one. He needed to spare himself that. He'd admitted as much to Sarah. Now, for all the times he'd tried to get Dean to share, tonight he wanted no enlightenment. Maybe tomorrow. He just hoped Dean would find a hotel room and soon.

Dean knew Sam kept glancing at him. He hoped Sam would let their conversation drop but also knew that thought was in vain. As a child, Sam had stayed a long time in the "why" stage. Once he wanted to know something, he'd keep asking until he learned the truth by driving his brother insane. Dean had first taught Sam how to use a library to get himself off the hook. He half smiled with the memory. So much had changed. So much had not. Sam once again looked to him for answers. Answers Dean had promised not to give. Answers he was having a hard time keeping hidden.

Up ahead was a sign for Arlington that promised a motel. They'd been following the Hood River on I-84. It was early to stop but he was bone tired and sure that Sam was too. While Dean checked them in, Sam grabbed their duffles out of the back and waited for Dean to lead the way to their room. Dean reached back into the Impala to grab the six pack, ignored since Sam's vision, hoping there was a mini fridge in the room. Sure enough, there was.

Dean noticed that Sam grasped at his left collarbone. "Did the doctor check that at all for you?"

"Yeah, after she ran the bloodwork. Dean? Why. . ."

"Hey, Sam. Let's knock off the "why" conversation until tomorrow okay? I'm tired and just want to get a shower and sleep." Dean was afraid he'd start rambling since his tired brain might not be able to keep a rein on his tongue. He grabbed the first clothes he could find and retreated to the bathroom.

Sam slumped down, defeated. He hadn't even planned to ask about Dean's almost-confession, but Dean didn't even let him speak. He'd get a shower in the morning. Changing into sweats and a t-shirt, Sam was in bed asleep before Dean emerged from the bathroom. He didn't see Dean standing above him. Didn't see the worry in his brother's eyes. Didn't see the relief of having his brother still with him. Alive and safe. For now.

_A/N: Many thanks to those who've reviewed so far. Sorry it took so long to update but it's the end of the semester and I am the one doing the grading of research papers and final exams and now, the new semester. Please let me know how you liked this chapter. Last chapter was Dean-centric and this one Sam. The two brothers are a whole and balance each other therefore this story will try to do the same._


	3. Chapter 3

**Darkness Beckons** - Chapter Two

_Disclaimer: I own nothing from the world of Supernatural except for the Season One DVD set._

_Spoilers through Hunted_

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Sam would prevent any more Winchester deaths on his behalf. A resolution had formed. His absence might keep Dean safe from the demon. He knew Dean would never let him go off without a fight, especially now. He'd planned it very carefully. It was for the best. Sam kept telling himself that. He didn't want to be alone but deeper than that fear was the despair he'd feel if Dean was hurt because of him. Dean had been his shield through many hunts, stopping claws, teeth, or whatever some spirit decided to throw at him. They were all each other had; no one else was left. Dean would protect Sam until his dying breath and _that _Sam would not allow. Not anymore. 

John's death still hit Sam in the solar plexus. The rmemory of it would take his breath away at odd times. Did his dad decide to sacrifice himself not just to save Dean but to escape something else? Had he needed to escape the responsibility of making sure his son didn't turn evil? Was that why John'd stayed away last year? Sam had cheated his brother out of their mother and now their father. It was be a miracle that Dean didn't hate him.

Sam stared at the darkened road in front of him. He'd stolen a car from the Velvet Inn's parking lot when he left his brother behind. He needed answers and Dean wasn't willing to hunt for them. Not right now. Sam had taken matters into his own hand. Palming a pill from their first aid kit, Sam had been able to slip it into Dean's beer. His resonant snores told Sam when it was time to leave. He looked back once at Dean before closing the motel room's door. Sam had no idea when he'd see his brother again, but he didn't regret leaving. Dean was on edge. His world was upside down. Sam realized how much it had hurt Dean to admit their father's last command. He disobeyed his hero by sharing with Sam the secret that had been weighing him down. Sam swallowed down his anger once again. He was pissed at Dean but now he understood. Dean's actions for the past few months became clearer now that he knew what had driven him. Sam believed they were now in a race. He needed answers before the demon came after him again. Answers that might keep him safe, might keep Dean safe, might prevent Dean's nightmare from coming true.

His phone rang. A smile quirked Sam's lips. Dean _was_ consistent. He'd started calling every hour since he had awakened and discovered Sam missing. Sam refused to answer; he had a lot of messages. He had listened to them while filling the car with gas. The first ones he'd had to actually hold the phone away from his ear. The distance didn't impede hearing the shouted messages. As the day progressed, Dean's tone switched from infuriated to confused to pleading. He wanted Sam back. The last time he'd heard Dean plead like that was in the cabin and his dad had ordered Sam to shoot him. This time, he was able to resist his brother's request. While driving, Sam's own anger and pain had mutated into a numbness that filled him with a cottony shock. Knowing there was a chance of him turning evil, forcing Dean to destroy him, drove him onward in search of answers away from his brother.

Sam's eyes blurred as he glanced at the dashboard clock. 3:48 a.m. He'd been on the road since before dawn to get as far away from Dean as he could. He was so tired. He'd figured out that the demon knew where he was more or less at all times. How else had Meg been able to find him on the side of the road? She'd known where to find him in Chicago. Worse. The demon now knew for sure that Sam would do anything for Dean. That was his final button. One Sam would not allow to be pushed. Dean had kept his younger brother from snapping when Jessica died. He still remembered the black grief that had engulfed him, made him want to challenge anything that got in his way during the hunt. The pain was still there but was muted, not by time, but by purpose. Jess would not have wanted him to destroy himself senselessly. No. He would thwart the demon's plans in whatever manner he could. He would not be like Max or Anson. He would no longer destroy those around him. If Dean was killed, Sam would snap. He just wasn't sure how he'd snap. Would he turn murderous or become suicidal? Sam wanted a third choice. One where both Winchesters survived. His brother was strong, but Dean _could_ not be put in danger from the demon because of Sam. Not right now. His breath hitched. He missed his brother already. How long could he continue with this resolution? He needed Dean. But he needed to find the truth first. Unlike their father though, he'd share that truth with Dean. Hopefully, they could come up with a plan.

Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he thought, "It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known." Dickens had been dry but he did have some valid thoughts on self sacrifice. Sam wondered if his dad had ever read that classic. Sam's eyes focused on a hotel billboard. Back in college, Sam, Jessica, and a few of their friends had gone to see "Revenge of the Sith." Afterwards, their discussion had turned to "what would it take to push you over the edge?" Sam had not joined in as he knew what had pushed his father over the edge. Not even two years later, he learned what would have pushed him over the edge had Dean not been there to pull him back. That last safety cord, Dean's strength, could not be broken. Of that, Sam was sure. Only two miles before the exit. Hopefully, Ellen or Ash could help with his quest.

_Please read and review. Thanks!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Darkness Beckons Chapter Three**

A/N: This chapter discusses events through _Houses of the Holy_ so Spoiler Alert up through S2 episode 13.

Disclaimer: I receive no compensation for these stories other than reviews and own nothing from Kripke's world of Supernatural.

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Dean unlocked the door to their room and both men staggered in. Sam dropped his duffle onto the floor near his bed. Shower or sleep? The past seven weeks were a blur. Leaving Providence, Rhode Island, they'd finally reached the Alabama border and Interstate 20 an hour ago when Dean had called it quits. Unspoken was their desire to stay far away from Wisconsin for a while. Dean hoped his face wouldn't be plastered on any news reports down here. Both men were exhausted after driving more than 900 miles practically nonstop. They'd actually kept to the speed limit to avoid unwelcome notice. Sam could barely stand so he flopped down onto the bed and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. 

Dean inspected his younger brother's face as he pulled off Sam's shoes. Deep lines were etched on his forehead. He'd taken Ava's disappearance hard, and it still bothered him. They still had no clue to what exactly had happened to her. He knew Sam was torn with guilt by it but it had taken Jim Beam and his friends at the Pierpoint Inn to help him understand how deeply distraught Sam was by the whole thing. Digging into his own duffle, Dean dragged out a t-shirt and shorts and headed towards the bathroom. He left the door open a crack to keep an ear out for Sam while he showered. He thought the kid was unconscious, but he wasn't going to take any chances on Sam ducking out on him again.

Sam had left him to find answers and instead had found only more questions. Scott Carey's taped interview, stolen from Dr. George Waxler's office, had said the demon was planning to build an army using those with special gifts as its soldiers. How Sam could fight on the demon's side with his premonitions, Dean had no clue. His brother's gift didn't seem to be an offensive weapon for the demon's arsenal. Did that mean Sam had other abilities? Was there something else hidden in that freaky head of his?

This coming war. What exactly was he supposed to save Sam from? John hadn't exactly been forthcoming with that little tidbit of information. His instructions were short and succinct. Save him or kill him. Dean'd spent his entire life saving Sam; he wasn't going to change that now. He'd called Bobby from Connecticut and told him about the demon's plans to create an army. Dean had been reluctant to share this, but Bobby had resources they didn't and he truly cared about them. He promised he'd try to find out all he could, and Dean had to be content with that.

Dean turned off the light in the bathroom and eased down onto his own bed. His plan was to go west. Looking back on the past few months, Dean was engulfed by all the events they'd stumbled through. Their lives had gone from being hunters to being the hunted. They were trying to hide from the yellow-eyed demon and his plans for Sammy, the Feds, and hunters who thought like Gordon. Their usual playmates seemed like kittens in comparison. _What's next?_ thought Dean as he slipped into slumber. He should have known better than to tempt the fates.

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_Please let me know what you think. I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing. This is more of a transition chapter between the last one and the next ones._


	5. Chapter 5

**Darkness Beckons - Chapter Four**

A/N: This chapter takes place directly before _Born Under a Bad Sign_ so Spoiler Alert up through S2 episode 14.

Disclaimer: I receive no compensation for these stories other than reviews and own nothing from Kripke's world of _Supernatural_.

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Sam threw the debris from their hamburgers into the trashcan of the hotel room, the latest in an endless string of similar dingy ones. Dean had left to try and hustle some cash. They were running low again, and he'd spotted a likely bar on Dyer. They'd decided to stop in El Paso for the night. They'd left Sherwood, Texas in their dust once they had stopped one more spirit from killing again. The glow of the large border town's lights had beckoned to them, and the military base meant there was sure to be soldiers wanting to play a game of pool. He decided to go for a walk to stretch his legs. They were just too long to be cramped all day in the Impala. Dean would probably be gone for hours. 

Returning, Sam sniffed the stale air; there was a reek of hot metal in the room. Wary, he looked around. On the stove in the kitchenette a burner was glowing cherry red. Something small rested on the coils. Sam stepped towards it when suddenly his feet were locked in place. He couldn't budge an inch. Looking down, he saw a small, innocuous stone. He squatted to pick it up, but it was rooted to the carpet. He cocked his head to one side. It seemed to be a warestone. He had only read about them in books. The Celts had used them to spy on and to control people from a distance. Beginning to glow, the stone's light increased until his eyes began to water from the glare. Sam's last conscious thought before darkness claimed him was _how did a warestone get into their room_?

Opening his eyes, Sam couldn't see much. He lay on the floor of a small, dark-walled room. He was bathed in a blood-red glow that pulsed from a pattern on the center of each wall. His right arm was aching. He rotated his wrist, afraid he'd broken it again. It moved without pain. The aching was centered in his forearm but he could see nothing wrong. Climbing to his feet while clutching his arm to his side, Sam stepped closer to one wall. The symbol was a circle bisected at one point by a line. Reaching out his left hand, Sam's fingertips touched the symbol. Lightning arced between the wall and his hand, and he was thrown down, unconscious once again.

Time passed.

His throbbing hand roused Sam. His entire body ached. Staggering slowly to his feet, Sam approached his prison walls once again, this time staying clear of each crimson circle. The walls were unbroken; there was no door that he could detect. Where the hell was he? How did he get into this room? He looked up. A trapdoor? The ceiling was too far above his reach and shrouded in darkness. Great. Slumping down in the corner, Sam prepared to wait. Dean would realize he was missing and start searching for him. A smile twisted his lips. Dean was the one constant in his life. He would never give up on looking for Sam. Sam had faith Dean would find him.

Sam had learned in a pre-law class that solitary confinement actually changed people's brain waves. The new waves showed a pattern characteristic of stupor and delirium. People became catatonic or engulfed by rage. He had to combat that to be ready for when Dean showed up, or he could make his own escape. He started running texts and rituals through his mind. Anything to keep his thoughts off of where he was. Wherever that was. An indeterminate time later, Sam saw the walls begin to shift and writhe. He stood up, confused. One of the black walls faded into a dull translucent grey, but he could still see the symbol's faint lines on it. Cautiously, he stepped closer to it. His vision sharpened, and he was somewhere else.

He was fighting someone and winning. Sam could feel his blade cut deep into flesh. He didn't know the man's name but his eyes looked right into Sam's as he bled out. The sight was burned into his mind forever. Sam couldn't control his own limbs, but he could feel the man's body on his thighs, the heavy weight of the cold blade, and the tackiness of blood on his hands. Looking up, Sam saw he wasn't in any place that he recognized. He stood and the body rolled to the floor. He still could not control his body but felt himself rub his hands on his shirt. He tried to cry out, to bend down and help that man, to do anything other than what he was doing. Nothing happened.

Crimson filled his eyes again and once again he was in the black-walled room. Now he could see that the walls were made of smoke, and he finally realized what had happened to him.

"About time you figured it out. You always were a bit slow on the uptake." A voice came from nowhere and everywhere.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Oh, come on now, Sam. Surely even you could figure this one out. I missed you." There was a slightly feminine timber to the voice, enough inflection that he was able to pinpoint when he'd last heard her speak."

"Meg?"

"In the flesh. Your flesh right now."

Sam twisted and turned in the room. This was not good. The last time they had seen Meg, she'd been headed for hell reduced to black smoke. Dean hadn't kept his promise to release her after she told them what she knew about where their father was being held. She'd sworn to get even before being banished. She was keeping her promise. Sam could still feel the man's blood on his hands. He wiped them against his front, but the sensation would not go away. Was this the first step in the demon's plans for him? It didn't make sense. If the demon could use him while possessed, why hadn't it done so before now? Was this an attack on him? Or on Dean?

He'd memorized an exorcism ritual while recuperating at Bobby's after the accident. Snarling at the ceiling, he spat. "_Regnatere cantante deo insolite domino._ . ." The symbols on the walls flared and white hot fire burned his right arm. He could not get air into his lungs. He fell down into a ball hoping the pain would stop. Every tendon, every muscle, every fiber of his being hurt.

"No, Sam. That's not going to work. Be good and I'll let you out to play again a little later. I'm going to call Dean now. This should be fun."

_No!_ Sam could not make a sound but his denial echoed in his head. What did she have planned? Would Dean realize it wasn't him in his body? Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He was terrified. What if the next thing he beheld was his brother's eyes, the light dying in them as they beheld the man who was no longer his brother but something else? He couldn't move. His worst nightmare could happen and he wouldn't know until too late. Sam prayed.

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_A/N: Please review to let me know what works and what doesn't. I wrote the exorcism words as phonetically as possible while watching "Devil's Trap." The words are different thatn the one's Bobby used in "Born Under a Bad Sign." I'm guessing there is more than one ritual. Any wrong words are my own fault. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Darkness Beckons – Chapter Five**

A/N: This chapter takes place after _Born Under a Bad Sign_ so Spoiler Alert up through S2 episode 14.

Disclaimer: I receive no compensation for these stories other than reviews and own nothing from Kripke's world of Supernatural.

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Standing in the motel shower, Sam's teeth were clenched against the bile rising in his throat to keep the bile _in_ his throat. His throat and stomach burned. He remembered. And wished he couldn't. 

_While Bobby had checked Dean's wounds, Sam had gone into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he remembered all he had been allowed to see while possessed. Overcome with nausea, he had dropped to the floor and thrown up. Bobby had found him hunched over the toilet spitting up blood. The holy water had made a mess of his insides. Bobby had taken one look at his shaking body and left only to return to hand Sam a bottle. _

"_Drink. This should help." _

_The cool liquid had reduced the burn inside. Nodding his thanks, Sam accepted Bobby's hand to help him back onto his feet. _

"_Keep the bottle. Drink some of it when the pain gets too bad." Bobby sighed as he watched the youngest Winchester sit down on the toilet. It seemed lately that every time they turned around, these boys were getting their feet knocked out from under them. What Sam had seen and done was probably eating him up worse than the holy water had. He was used to patching up wounded hunters but these two were too young to bear so many deep wounds. _

Sam leaned his head against the tile walls while warm water cascaded down his back. Dean had used up most of the hot water, but Sam did not begrudge him that at all. He'd watched Dean move, knew his body had to be aching. His brother was in pain because Sam had hurt him. Dean's face was bruised and his shoulder bore a bullet hole that had later been gouged by the demon using Sam's thumb.

_Bobby had wanted them to stay but the news about Steve Wandell killed those plans. There was bound to be hunters dropping by to see what he knew about the murder. Sam and Dean had to leave. There was also the chance that Jo had told someone about Sam being possessed._

_Meg had let him see what his body was doing to Jo. He'd stared into Jo's tear-filled eyes and knew he had been the cause of her tears. The demon taunted her with knowledge that staggered Sam. How could he tell Dean this truth? Should he? **Was** it the truth? Meg claimed Jo was bait. Bait for what had soon become clear. Meg wanted Dean to kill Sam. Using his voice, she begged Dean to shoot Sam. Sam had looked into Dean's eyes and seen only denial. Dean could not shoot his brother._ _The holy water tossed on him had thrown Sam back into darkness as the demon raged and threw off its protective camouflage. The demon locked him up again so it could focus on Dean. Sam had thrown himself against the smoky walls in an effort to fight back, to see what was happening. His arm had accidentally touched one of the sigils, and he had been knocked out once again. _

_Coming to, Sam crouched in the smoke-walled chamber and waited for his chance. He had to focus on attacking Meg when Dean did. The two of them could surely expel her from his body. He just needed to know when to make his move. Their father had been able to fight his possession, why couldn't Sam do the same? He wasn't as strong as John but he was determined. The symbols flared and pulsed. A man's voice read Latin which echoed in the chamber. Bobby? The walls shook. And then stood firm. Sam panicked. He knew that ritual. Why wasn't he free? He crouched down and covered his face. What was happening out there with his body? Would he ever know? Or had he missed his one chance to fight back?_

_When the smoke walls around him had vanished, he'd found himself looking at Dean and Bobby out of his own two eyes. He heard no other voice inside his head. Bobby was wary and Dean looked drained and battered and beaten. His own arm had burned with a new pain but it was welcome. He could feel his own body again which disorientated him. His eyes had darted between the two afraid of what he'd discover he'd done while he couldn't see. He'd blurted out the first thing that crossed his mind. "Did I miss anything?" He hadn't meant to sound flippant, but he was immensely relieved to discover that he wasn't cradling another dying person. He hadn't exactly missed his chance to regain control of his body; he just wasn't the one who had won his control back. Bobby and Dean had cast Meg out of him. Now he was left with the horror of what his body had done and said. _

Sam turned off the shower. He looked at the mark on his arm. Bobby's addition had turned into one gigantic, painful blister. He used some ointment from their first aid kit to help ease it. He'd wear that brand the rest of his life, however long that might be. He was beginning to think it would not be as long as he'd once dreamed. He struggled placing the bandage on his arm but there was no way he was going to disturb Dean. Sam was suddenly filled with the desire to heat up his knife and burn the whole thing out of recognition. The only thing stopping him was that there was no heat source in the bathroom. He'd have to wait.

Steeling himself, Sam stepped out into the bedroom. He had to face his brother sometime. Dean had not looked at him with anything other than concern. There was no blame from his brother. The wounds that had been inflicted on Dean with Sam's own hands were not his fault. He knew that, and so did Dean, but that only helped a little. Dean had left the lamp on but appeared to be asleep. Sam quietly climbed into his own bed, stepping over a thick line of salt around it. There was one around Dean's bed as well. Housekeeping was going to be pissed. Sam lay back against his pillow, shut his eyes, and tried to find the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

Dean had listened as Sam turned on the shower. He'd claimed it first since he hurt and had three day's worth of sweat and grime and now blood making him itch. He had initially hoped to stay with Bobby for a few days but the news about Steve Wandell put a crimp in that plan. Bobby had silently warned them to not admit to anything and that they might be in danger if they stayed. Bobby knew it had been the demon but there was little chance that other hunters would pause long enough to listen to reason. The only recourse was to leave. So they left. It was just the two of them. Again.

Dean couldn't relax on his bed. He'd found Sam only to be engulfed in his worst nightmare. Ever since their dad had died, he'd had nightmares of finding Sam in his gunsights. John's words echoed in his head saying he'd have to kill Sam if Dean couldn't save him. Meg had taunted him with his fear that he wouldn't be able to save Sam. He would prove her wrong. He would prove them all wrong. He would save Sam.

Dean's fist ached. He had lashed out at his brother when it became clear Sam didn't realize what had been happening. He knew Sam would pester Dean until his older brother told him everything. That scared Dean and a scared Dean was an angry Dean. Hence the punch. He did not want to look into Sam's eyes as he absorbed the horror of the past two days. The murder of another hunter. The attack on Jo. The attack on his own brother. Sam had made Dean promise to kill him if he turned evil. Dean had broken that promise willingly.

During the long drive away from Bobby's, Dean had needed to erase the haunted look in Sammy's eyes so he fell back onto an old habit: he joked. He tried to get Sam to forget for a second what he'd seen. "You like full on had a girl inside you for a whole week. It's pretty naughty." He succeeded in pulling a smile from somewhere inside Sam. It was gallows humor and they both knew it, but it eased the tension down to bearable from explosive.

Dean heard the water turn off. He didn't want to talk to his brother. Not yet. They needed a new hunt, something simple to get back into the swing of things. They needed to get their minds off the fact that the bitch was back and she was gunning for them. Meg would surely possess someone else. She now had Sam's memories. Would she go after someone else they knew? It would kill Sammy if someone else was possessed by Meg and hurt by virtue of just knowing the Winchesters. He would keep Sam safe but what about all the others? Who knew how many friends Sam had made at Stanford? If any of them suddenly showed up, Dean would be ready. He'd carry both flasks; one for fortification and antiseptic and the other for protection. He'd have to increase his vigilance. Forewarned is forearmed and Dean had a lot of armament.


	7. Interlude

**Darkness Beckons – Interlude**

This interlude takes place between _Born Under a Bad Sign_ and before _Tall Tales_.

Disclaimer: I own nothing from Kripke's world. He is king of Supernatural.

* * *

Dean latched the motel room's door behind them. His eyes still felt glued together even after being awake for over an hour. He was so not an early bird. Yet they had to stay in shape and a compromise was in order. Dean was insistent that Sam not go off for an hour or so to run alone in the mornings any more. Bobby's charms might protect them; they might not. But…fitness was vital and they sure didn't have any gym memberships. Hence the compromise. Every other morning, the two Winchesters would get up early and go running before breakfast. The other days, they would go running around sunset right before dinner. Dean had always preferred roadwork in the evenings that they didn't have a job; it helped loosen him up for pool and any other bar games that came up. It seemed to be working out; they hadn't killed each other yet. 

Sam was digging in his duffle for his clothes. His rock had beaten Dean's scissors that morning, and he had the shower first. They had a long day of driving ahead of them, and he couldn't take forever in the shower though he wanted to. They had a new job in another town. Sam had read about a professor's bizarre death at Crawford Hall, and they were going to go check it out.

"Don't use all the hot water, Sammy, or we might have an extra long sparring session at noon." Sparring in motel parking lots was right out. Too many possible observers. Too many unwanted questions. When he'd grabbed Sam from Stanford, they'd started with the lunchtime sessions to help Sam get back into practice. They'd never stopped. Sometime around noon each traveling day, an observer might spot a black Impala on the side of the road. They always tried to find a copse of trees or at least moved far enough away from the roadside so a passing driver couldn't see the two men fighting. It helped ease the cramps in backs and legs from sitting on the car's bench seat. Of course, driving sweaty wasn't enjoyable, but their life was full of sacrifices.

"Sure, Dean. I'll leave you enough so your old bones can soak."

The door shut behind Sam in time to deflect the thrown boot. Dean winced as the throw had pulled his left shoulder a bit. The gunshot wound still hurt but there was no way he was going to admit that to Sam. The kid still gave him guilty looks when he thought Dean wasn't looking. When he got his hands on Meg . . . Dean was still so pissed off he couldn't even decide what he'd do to her first. Every night he listened to Sam toss and turn and fantasized about ways he would destroy that demon. No one messed with his little brother and got away with it.

Bobby checked in with them by phone on a regular basis now. Sam didn't know, but Bobby was keeping Dean updated about the search for Steve Wandell's killer. Told as hunting gossip, Dean knew Bobby wanted no confirmation that it had been a possessed Sam. "What I don't know, I can't say," had always been Bobby's good excuse since the boys were younger, and the three Winchesters had stayed with him.

Dean packed his clothes leaving out only what he needed to change into for the next leg of their journey.

_SNSNSNSN_

In an ugly motel room in the next town, Sam snapped the laptop closed, a satisfied grin on his face. Another job completed. He'd never really explained much about it to Dean. Sam knew his brother would tease him about his geek quotient being exceeded. But it was a _real_ job; not hustling, not credit card scams. _His_ business.

It had begun while Sam was still a freshman at Stanford. Zack's older sister, Rebecca, had been struggling to find information to support her paper's thesis. After listening to her complain, Sam had gone back to his dorm room and spent the night trying to find what had eluded her. He handed her a list of sources and facts the next morning in the cafeteria. Both siblings had been astonished at what Sam had discovered and the speed with which he had found everything. Sam had smiled when they praised his acumen; he refused to explain how he had become so adept at winnowing out facts from fluff. There was no way he'd tell these friends what his childhood topics of research had been.

With very little urging, Zack and Rebecca had convinced him to start a research business. He'd begged new identification from Pastor Jim Murphy, enough to create a legitimate bank account and establish a credit card. This identification was still untouchable for any other reason. Word of mouth spread around Stanford about how "this guy I know of," for a fee, could find information for almost any kind of paper. Sam refused to write the actual papers; he just took the client's thesis and looked for a variety of supporting sources. He charged by the number of citable items he found. E-mail and PayPal kept anyone; the university, the police, the Feds, from connecting the business back to him. He hoped. He would be able to withdraw some cash tomorrow for some of their expenses.

He sighed. At least one thing was going right in his life. He wasn't quite under lock and key, but he knew any prolonged absence of his made Dean twitchy. Meg was still out there. Sam fingered the brand on his arm. It no longer ached but it was a constant reminder of what he'd done; what he'd been through. What they'd both been through.

Sam had caught Dean fingering the healing wound in his left shoulder more than once. Sam cringed inwardly. He had shot his brother twice now while possessed. Once in Rockford and once in Duluth. He had no idea how Dean had known it wasn't Sam in control either time. That was another topic they just didn't discuss. One more in a list growing longer day by day. How could Dean ever trust him completely? Once again nights were sleepless for him. Sam lay for hours looking at the wall. He was afraid if he'd shut his eyes, he'd open them again somewhere else. Somewhere new with no memory about the journey or what he had done while getting there.

Sam caught himself beginning to shake. He gripped the chair arms to still his hands. The cold coursing through his body wasn't caused by the air conditioner. It was the nightmare of looking into Dean's eyes and having no control over his own actions. Through his mouth, Meg had demanded Dean keep his promise to their father and to a drunken Sam. Dean had adamantly refused. Only when they were leaving Bobby's did Sam learn what had driven Dean's decision. "He said I'd have to kill you if I can't save you. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to save you." Dean's complete support and faith of Sam was the only thing keeping him together. "Keep Sammy safe" had stopped being an order long ago and had become Dean's mantra. Sam prayed it wouldn't be the death of Dean. If it was, it would be the death of them both.

* * *

_A/N: I was curious about how the boys stayed in shape and where might Sam have gotten the money in Tall Tales. After running many scenarios through my head, these were the answers I came up with. This was an interlude rather than a chapter to advance the story further. Any thoughts? I'd love to hear them. Please R & R. Many thanks._


	8. Chapter 8

**Darkness Beckons – Chapter Six**

This chapter is a missing scene from the middle of _Heart _so enter at your own risk.

Disclaimer: Kripke and the CW own everything to do with _Supernatural,_ darn it.

* * *

The TV's flickering flashed across Sam's unfocused eyes. Madison was asleep in the other room; she hadn't made a sound in over an hour. It felt weird to have another person asleep near him that wasn't Dean...or Jess. Sam swallowed. Why was he so nervous and awkward around Madison? It wasn't like he was interested in her. . . Was he? He admitted to himself that he had not wanted Dean to stay with her. Knowing the moves his brother would make on her irritated him. Why? He wasn't looking to hook up with her. 

Jess had been gone over a year. Dean kept trying to get him to move on. Sarah had started thawing the frozen shield he'd erected around his heart. But he hadn't stayed in contact with her. "It's not about a broken heart and a tub of Häagen-Dazs…The pain I went through I can't go through again." Sarah confessed she'd retreated into a warm shell when her mother died. Sam's shell was made of freezing ice to ward off fire. His life was so messed up, and now with The Yellow-Eyed Demon and maybe hunters after _him,_ and demonMeg after _Dean_, it just would be stupid to…

Sam steered away from where his thoughts kept turning. What was it about Madison that drew him? She impressed him. She was smart, pretty, kind, and she seemed attracted to him. His face flushed with the memory of that baby blue silk thong she had brandished in front of him. Was she goading him to act? Or just resentful of the cop in her house and trying to make him uncomfortable?

He wasn't like Dean. Dean seemed content to have a brief companionable night or two before moving on. After meeting Cassie, Sam had developed a theory about his brother. Scared at Dean's revelations about the family business, Cassie had dumped his self-assured, handsome brother. That must have knocked his feet out from under him. Dean had laid bare his heart, and she had stomped on it. Of course, a girl who had never seen anything supernatural would dismiss his tales as the ramblings of a madman and push that man away. But when it came down to it, family and the job mattered most and nothing would keep Dean from either. Not many women would be willing to take third place in a man's heart. So Dean chose to make new friends in every town and said goodby with little visible regret. He accepted this life of a hunter.

But Sam had had Jess, had had normal. He had known a deep love and it was hard for him to accept anything less. He still kept his love for her tucked deep inside, but sometimes it was hard to remember Jess's laugh or the way her eyes had sparkled when they had debated about something from one of their classes. Dean was right. He had to move on. Jess would have wanted him to. She would want him to find some measure of contentment if not happiness.

But Madison? So far, she thought her ex-boyfriend was a stalker and he was a cop protecting her from him. She had no clue they were hunting a werewolf. And she would stay in the dark if he had anything to say about it. She made him feel all protective, right? Just protective and concerned. Sam told himself that he wouldn't be drawn to her. They would finish and move on. A glimpse of his life would just make her run.

The minutes slowly changed on the microwave's clock counting down towards dawn. He got up and went to her bedroom door. Peeking in, he saw the dark curtain of her hair on the pillow. Moving to the kitchen sink, he got a glass of water. He had no idea where the coffee was stored and didn't want to risk waking her up rummaging in the cabinets looking for it. Sipping, he looked into the night and wished the moon would set; it had barely started its downward journey in the sky. He returned to the couch with a sigh.

A George Foreman infomercial was now on. Great. More riveting TV. Sam really wished he'd thought to grab the laptop out of the Impala before Dean had left. Their father's journal was pretty vague with information about werewolves. Who was Sam kidding? In another time, another place, another life even, Sam would have pursued Madison. But their life and all the things that haunted it, and him, held him back from hope and desire. Gaah! "_Focus_," he told himself. Focus on the job.

"_Yeah, keep telling yourself that_." Funny, how his thoughts were starting to sound a lot like Dean's voice. Sam found Madison fascinating and yes, attractive. His lips curled into a self-deprecating grin. Just because he was interested in her did not mean she was interested in him. She'd have to make the first move.

Sam's thoughts kept drifting. He found himself dreaming of a life he'd once hoped to regain. But with their father dead and John's burden now placed on both their shoulders, that life was a dim reflection of what might have once been; not what would be. He would not allow himself to be responsible for the death of someone he cared for ever again. A phantom feeling of warm blood spatter on his forehead made him shiver. He turned his attention back to the television and drove all thoughts of Maddy from his mind. For a time.

The room slowly brightened and Sam sighed with relief. Madison was not the werewolf. His relief was short lived. Dean's call changed everything.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry it's taken me this long to conclude this story. There has been a bit of drama here, but things are good now. I've got two other stories in the works but won't post until they're almost finished to prevent a long wait for any readers again. For those who have stuck with me, many thanks, and I hope this story meets your expectations. Please let me know your thoughts about it. As usual, I own nothing to do with Supernatural; it's the sole intellectual property of Kripke, et al.

* * *

_This chapter takes place after What is and Should Never Be and All Hell Breaks Loose Part Two._

Sam cursed as fate placed him in his brother's shoes. Again. First Madison had begged him to kill her as an act of kindness. Now, Dean was missing. Sam wanted to throw his phone across the room in frustration, but it was his only link to Dean. Damnit, why hadn't he come back to get Sam to help with the djinn? Sam waited through the night for his brother to call back. Nothing.

The sun had risen less than an hour ago. Enough time. Once again, Sam found himself breaking into a car to steal it. With a mirthless grin, Sam sat up as the engine purred to life. Engaging the gears, Sam eased the car onto the road intent on retracing Dean's path. Muttering imprecations under his breath, Sam tried to banish images of a dead Dean from his mind. As the minute hand marked time, Sam raced up and down back roads looking for the Impala. He forced himself to remember it had new plates, but he was pretty sure there were few '67 black Impalas on the roads around here. He would settle for finding the one. Which he finally spotted. Grabbing a silver knife from the trunk and dipping it in the lamb's blood he had stolen, Sam headed into the building to find his brother.

* * *

Sitting in the hotel room listening to Dean, hearing a wistfulness that was rare in his brother's voice, Sam was at a loss. He was used to dealing with an angry Dean, a hyper Dean, a focused Dean, a hedonistic Dean, but this new Dean scared him. Sam was touched by Dean's desire to see that Sam would have a happy life even at the cost of their brotherhood. But Dean came back. Back to hardship, back to a world of evil, back to save his brother from that evil. One way or another, Dean would watch out for Sammy.

"I know. But I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay so bad. I mean, ever since Dad…all I can think about is how much this job's cost us. We've lost so much. And we've sacrificed so much."

"But people are alive because of you. It's worth it Dean. It is. It's not fair, and, you know, it hurts like hell, but it's worth it." But would it always be worth it?

* * *

Dean would be an icicle soon. He'd been showering for over 20 minutes hiding from what he believed would be Sam's censuring gaze. He'd allowed Sam the chance to shower first when they reached the motel. Bobby and Ellen had taken rooms near them with plans to meet for breakfast. Ellen was being kept in the dark about Dean's deal for now, but Sam learned that Bobby had seen his corpse and had deduced how Dean had brought him back. And the cost to them both. 

525,600 minutes. Sam had watched _Rent_ recently, nothing else was on TV that night but reality shows which he despised, and that line kept running through his head. He had to force himself to not start playing mental math in a countdown of the time left. Time until Dean was taken from him. From their war. No. Sam would spend the year looking for a solution, looking for an escape clause, looking for some way to save his brother. Each had his job, look out for his brother. Dean had taken that to the extreme. It was only meet that Sam be willing to do no less. He'd have Bobby start helping him search for a solution while they began hunting down those escaped demons. Sam stared of into an unknown future.

The shower stopped. Dean took his own sweet time leaving his temporary sanctuary. He had begged Sam not to blame him for the deal. Afraid to look into Sam's patented puppy dog eyes, Dean was hoping his brother would be asleep. No such luck. The light was still on, and Sam was scrunched with his back against the headboard. But he didn't have his laptop. Dean was taken aback. He'd thought for sure Sam would be online, searching for a solution.

Sam didn't meet his brother's gaze, his eyes, unfocused looked beyond the motel room's walls. He had retreated into his own thoughts. Dean didn't want a confrontation, so he left his brother alone, went to his bed, and threw himself down on it.

Dean had explained that the deal stipulated that he not try to weasel out. Sam believed that did not apply to him. He needed to save Dean from their father's fate. A fate Dean felt he deserved. John Winchester was still dead, but now his soul was released from hell. Dean had once sworn he'd march into hell to save their dad if he was in torment; hell had marched up instead with John Winchester in its midst. John who had defeated, along with his sons, their nemesis.

Looking over at his brother, Dean did not regret his choice. He'd always put Sam's safety first; always would. He squashed the fear raised by the Yellow-Eyed Demon's question about whether or not Sam might have come back changed. He'd been dead for over a day. What had he seen? What had been done to him? Did he remember anything? With the YED gone, would Sam still get those freaky visions? Sam's expression as he wiped away the drop of Jake's blood after shooting the soldier again and again in the cemetary haunted Dean. Dean needed to shut his brain down; he needed sleep. He took a deep breath for focus. Closing his eyes, Dean slowly succumbed to exhaustion.

Sam returned to the present. He'd been traveling through his past, remembering all the times that Dean had come through for him. Now it was Sam's turn to save his brother. He was dismayed at Dean's lighthearted take on the whole deal. He didn't act too worried, and Sam wasn't sure if it was a façade, or if Dean really thought his time was up. He'd expressed guilt about him being alive because of their father's sacrifice. Dean had once resigned himself to death after that shocking encounter with the rawhead. But like then, as now, Sam would leave no stone unturned, no ritual unspoken, so long as there was a chance to keep the hell hounds away.

Sam settled back under the covers. His back gave a sharp twinge, reminding him of Jake's attack. What other souvenir did he have from that time in Cold Oak, South Dakota? Closing his eyes, Sam's mind rattled off a litany of "to do's" for tomorrow. His breathing slowed, and he slowly dropped off into sleep. Within the young hunter, something coiled deep inside, waiting for its time in the sun. A darkness lay within.


End file.
